Tiny Troubles
by The Banana Nut Muffin
Summary: Dean and Sam have a small mishap with a shtriga that turns into something much more troubling. Season 1: set at the end of Something Wicked. De-aged Sam.
1. Monster Mojo

_Yes, yes, I know what you're all thinking. Not another de-aged Sam fic! But honestly, I haven't read too many of these. I'm finding more de-aged Dean, so if anyone knows of any good ones, please let me know. My first Supernatural fic! :) Hope everyone enjoys! This idea sprung up while I was watching 'Something Wicked'- Season 1._

**XX-XX**

Dean Winchester gripped the steering wheel of his 1967 Impala tightly, his knuckles growing white from the intense pressure. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his already drenched forehead, but he made no move to wipe it away; his eyes were focused on the road ahead. 50 more miles until the last exit out of Fitchburg, the damnedest town in Wisconsin, and all he could think about were those kids, feeble and sick from that son of a bitch shtriga, poor Michael and the condition of his little brother, and of course, Sammy..

He narrowed his eyes, trying to drain his thoughts away from what that God-awful creature could be performing on his little brother right now. He knew Sammy was capable of defending himself, but it was not consoling to know the bastard had knocked him out-cold beforehand. Their plan of luring _It _in using Michael as bait had not been a successful one, but it had sounded fool-proof when Dean had gone over it in his head the first few times. He always had a strategy prepared, that, and he excelled in the art of "winging" it.

It never occurred to him that the shtriga would gain the upper hand just by a simple incantation that could knock any enemies backwards. If he had just kept a better hold on his gun, it wouldn't have slipped away, and the son of a bitch wouldn't have escaped with Sam captive.

_Why would it take Sammy? _

Dean could feel the heat rising in his stomach, blood boiling with anger as he had failed yet again at protecting his brother. His father's disappointment slowly seeping it's way into his thoughts, haunting him as it had 16 years ago. Determination overruled anger as he slammed his foot onto the gas pedal, the engine roaring to life as the car raced down the deserted highway, it's wheels screeching along the pavement. The only good thought running through his mind and keeping him going was the fact that they had managed to save Micheal from the creature's wrath, unscathed. He had promised the little boy he would kill the shtriga, praying that Sammy and Asher would survive until then.

He was still amiss at how fast and stealthy it had been, and the way it targeted Sam, almost as if it recognized him. It couldn't be possible that it wanted to finish what it had started back in 1989. The thought was just absurd. Terrifying, but absurd.

20 more miles now.

_I'll kill the damn thing if I find it hurts Sammy_, Dean thought, _hell, I'm gonna kill it anyways! _

He had figured the creature was taking his brother back to the original place where it first tried to feed off of him.

Fortbragg, Wisconsin- Wayward Motel.

Sam could hear the sounds of glass scraping against tile in the distance as he struggled to regain consciousness. _What is that..?_ he wondered, opening his eyes a crack, trying to see through the interminable darkness. A wave of pain instantly shot through him, sending white-hot electric currents riveting toward his head. A tiny moan escaped from deep within his throat, and he ceased at once knowing his efforts were in vain. _...hurts so bad...what h-happened?_

_"Sammy, get down!" _

Images of Dean whipping out a .45 and barking orders at the both of them flashed quickly through his mind, but nothing of importance was registering at the moment. He tried moving his hands, but realized with hopelessness that they were bounded by something jagged -possibly rope- that was quickly cutting off his circulation. Groaning, he attempted to move his legs next, but found they were bound up as well. _Shit_.

This shtriga didn't piss around.

Head pounding, Sam busied himself with trying to open his eyes again, but not too fast. He blinked carefully, and the darkness slowly melted into a faint light. He felt warm liquid that could only be blood dripping down his forehead as the light seemed to grow brighter. After a few moments, he could just make out the outline of a window in front of him. "Where- " Another loud screech met his ears, and his stomach gave a nasty _jolt _forward.

He might've suffered a nasty blow to the head, but he never forgot the sound of his own voice. Panic flooded through him, and he was on immediate alert. _What's going on?! Where is Dean...and what's that noise? _His eyes traveled over to the dirty, unkempt glass beyond him, and he gawked at the slightly distorted image staring back at him. _Nooo.._

Panicked, Sam looked down at his arms to make sure they were his, and terror struck through him like a knife at what he saw. His arms were smaller and scrawnier, and had lost their muscle. _No, my vision just isn't working right...this...this is just a hallucination...I'm just remembering the last time..._ ,he trailed off. "Oh God NO!"

* * *

"This is just a dream," he told himself, albeit unsure. "a scary, scary dream." The blood had dried by now, and after reminding himself over and over again that the image he was seeing in the window was not his own but some sort of trick, he tried to think of how to get out of the situation. He blanched at the sound of his voice; it was squeaky and childish, just like it had been when he was 4 years old.

"This is so wrong...but...where is-?" As if the monster had been reading his mind, another screech greeted his small ears, closer this time.

Nervousness settled into his stomach, and something akin to fear crept into his emotions at the thought of being alone with the shtriga and it's powers. _..So, it somehow managed to turn me into a kid again...Definitely a 10 on the weird scale.._ ,he pondered, _..if it only targets kids. It must have only enough strength to drain the life out of children...but still,_ He glanced around the room again, taking in the musty smell of carpet and old linen. The younger Winchester swallowed his anxiety_. Why didn't it finish me off earlier? ...what is it waiting for?_ He felt the adult slowly draining out of him, and quickly being replaced with the childish fear of being left alone in the dark, forever. _Please, please hurry Dean._

"Why do the fugly looking creeps always go for the abandoned hideouts?"

Dean gave the run-down, shabby little motel a once over, and slipped the shotgun loaded with iron bullets into his jacket. He was determined to blow the creature's brains out after the safe return of his little brother, and of course to put an end to the nasty outbreak of illness it had spread to all of the children in the area. He wouldn't let Micheal and Asher down, not again at least.

He quietly slipped inside, careful not to step on any broken glass so as not to surprise the creepy bastard, and kept his hand toward the pocket of his gun, just in case something decided to surprise him. "Sammy, you in here?" he whispered, inching along the dust-covered wall with the slyness of a fox. These were the moments when he didn't resent the training their dad had had them endure as children; it did come in handy.

Dean rounded the corner, and quickly sprung into action, weapon in tact. He swore he had heard something rustle in the distance, but no lingering threat presented itself; he must've been zoning out. No, that wasn't right. He was **always** focused on a hunt, or in this case a rescue.

Always.

_Damn't Dean, you've rescued the Sasquatch millions of times before. Why is this any different? , _he wondered. "Alright, if I was an ugly son of a bitch that sucked the lives out of innocent children, where would I hide?" _Women's restroom...possibly..or- _

Before he could finish his thought, an ear-shattering screech cut him off, and he felt himself crashing to the floor from the strength of an unseen force. Weapon spiraling across the worn-out floor boards, Dean tried to free himself of the vice-like hold. During that time, said ugly son of a bitch decided to make it's presence known, and locked onto the man's throat with decaying bony fingers that felt like the icy grip of death itself.

"I'm going to enjoy offing you now, dude! Get the hell off me!" he griped, channeling all his fury into killing the creature. He landed a good hard left hook, but found punches were useless against the newest specimen of shit the demons had conjured up. Damn shtriga. But the fight wasn't over yet, not by a long shot. _And until Sam was rescued.._

The creature underestimated Dean Winchester, which was a very big uh-oh on it's behalf.

Dean struggled to reach down into his pants pocket, and let out a huff of excitement once the tips of his fingers touched the glossy surface of his .30 caliber. He had come prepared this time with more than one weapon handy, and he was going to blast the creature to bits. He pulled the gun out around to his left, and unloaded the contents of it right into the shtriga's open mouth. At once, a beam of white light erupted from the creature as it was shot backwards, wailing, onto an old bed where it landed with a dull _thunk._ Panting heavily, Dean wiped some of it's blood off his forehead, and glanced around the room expectantly.

Ugly son of a bitch was dead, but where was Sammy?

"Sam, Sammy!" he called.

When there was no reply, he began a frantic search for his little brother, tearing apart the small room. "Come on, bro! Where are you?" he tried again, flipping over old dusty couch cushions that had been blocking his path. Sammy had to be somewhere among the mess! He would scour the whole building before he was forced to assume the worst.

And then he heard it.

So softly, he had to strain his ears to hear it. Barely above a whisper, a small pleading voice cried out from the darkness.

Dean held his gun out in front of him, unsure, as he followed the broken voice to it's source. His gut feeling told him to draw onwards, and years of experience taught him not to ignore this. Any sign or indication that his brother was still alive, no matter how minuscule, was good enough for him to go out on. "Sammy?" He stopped when he reached the doorway of a room that he once called home, and cautiously peeked around the frame. The room smelled dank and foul, and most of the furniture, aside from a small bed, was wrecked and torn beyond repair. He could hardly make out anything around him since the little light provided by the cracked and dusty window was really no help. Broken glass, torn pages from old newspapers, and even a small toy soldier, he saw squinting, littered the floor, crunching beneath his feet. But no trace of his brother.

As he stepped further into the room, he noticed a small lump sprawled haphazardly across the tiny bed. He thought nothing of it at first, but then it started to dawn on him that maybe Sam wasn't the only victim in this situation. _If that witch from hell decided to stop for seconds...It's a good thing it's already dead. _A feeling of dread swept over him as he saw the familiar mop of brown hair sticking out from the covers, and he instantly paled. _No way in hell.. _

"Sam?" He sank down onto the bed, ignoring the awful creak of rusted hinges against his weight. "Wake up sleeping beauty," he prodded.

The little bundle started to stir, hazily brown eyes peeking up at him, and the elder's worst fears were confirmed.

"D-dean? ..'ead feels like...on fire.." Sam slurred, moaning. "..hurts." He clutched a tiny hand to his forehead, swaying a little, but relaxed once he felt gentle hands carding through his hair, and murmurs reassuring him that it would soon go away. His eyelids began to droop as he struggled to stay awake, but it was a losing battle, and he finally succumbed to exhaustion. Dean sighed, running a hand over the child's body checking for any sustained injuries or broken limbs. Other than the fact that his brother was a toddler and contained a small gash mere inches above his temple, he was fine.

_Thank God. _He gathered the unconscious bundle into his arms, and set off for the Impala.

Shtrigas officially sucked.

**XX-XX **

_Ok, first objective: Find form-fitting clothes for the rugrat, _Dean rehearsed after making a mental check list in his head. They were cruising down the highway leaving Fitchburg out of sight without a sparing glance from the back windshield. Sam was tucked comfortably in the backseat, covered with a few old blankets that had been sitting in the trunk for a few weeks, still unaware of his condition; he hoped to broach that subject later. The kids affected by the shtriga were making miraculous recoveries, Michael had informed him, and Asher was tip-top as well. He was grateful for the bit of good news after his previous phone call with Bobby. The old hunter couldn't provide a solution, but had promised to research it more in depth until they arrived at Singer Salvage. The trip from Wisconsin to South Dakota would take a couple of days, but Dean planned to snag a motel along the way to give them both a break. _Maybe Bobby'll have a big ol' brain storm by then. And maybe if Sam sleeps the whole way, this won't be so bad. _

Sighing, Dean glanced into the backseat and smiled at the tiny mop of brown curls. His brother was snuggled against the warm, soft blankets, letting out contented murmurs, in a seemingly pain-free sleep for once. He took in a breath, the familiar scent of vinyl and newly refurbished upholstery greeting his nostrils, and he knew in an instant that he was safe; he smiled, unaware that his brother was watching. _Well, at least there's a silver lining to this shit-filled cloud_. The next 30 miles were spent in a comfortable silence, with the exception of the soft, rhythmic hum of the motor, but all was calm. After traveling a couple more miles up the road, the sun started to sink down under the horizon, and the bright neon lights flashing on the billboard up head was a sign to stop and rest for the night.

After easing his beauty into the small parking lot of _Super 8 Motel And Gift Shop,_ he proceeded to gather his brother from the backseat. _Tacky name for a tacky place. Guess it fits_, he thought, eyeing the small lobby carefully, Sam's little head slumped against his shoulder, covering the cut on the side of his face. After paying for the room and even visiting the gift shop to buy his brother clothing, Dean got rid of the old blankets and fit the kid into the brightly-colored pajamas. He would worry about bathing him later because sleep was calling his name, and it had been a long, confusing day. After Sam was all tucked in, salt lines were laid down, and knife was in tact, Dean felt it safe for himself to drift off to dreamland, and that he did. "Night Sammy," he whispered, no longer able to evade sleep. Both brothers slept on peacefully through the night.

Morning light filtered through the room, signaling the start of a new day.

"Rise and shine, Sammy-boy!"

It was barely 9 A.M. and already the older hunter was fired up and ready to go. He teetered on the edge of his younger brother's bed, smirking. When the little one still remained dormant, he began to nudge the lump in the sheets and grinned triumphantly upon hearing the exasperated groan. "Too early, dude, go back to sleep," he grumbled in response, and it must've been since his voice had not yet adjusted to the morning, or so he thought. The grueling smile and bright hazel-green eyes appeared so suddenly, he let out a squeak of surprise.

"Didn't mean to scare you, shorty." Dean apologized, eyes full of mirth. He shuffled the rest of the way onto the single bed, careful not to crush the small body nestled tightly in the heap of blankets, and sat cross-legged next to the smaller boy. "Now get your puny butt up!"

"Shorty?" Sam repeated, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

He knew something was amiss when his brother held up a bag in response, and wouldn't stop grinning like a mad man. "I figured this would last you until we hit the road again, ya know, since Bobby's place is a couple of days away." Sam cast the covers aside, cringing at how close his brother was to him, and since when had he grown a few inches taller than him? He pulled an item from the bag and frowned.

"Alright, what the hell, Dean?" he asked, holding up the green striped t-shirt with Super 8 logo stitched onto it. He coughed, trying and failing to rid the squeakiness from his tone. "What's going on!!" he demanded, shoving the items back at his brother, who had thrown his head back in a fit of laughter at the 4 year old's outburst. It wasn't his fault that Sam looked adorable when he was angry. It was just priceless.

"Dean! Shut the hell up!" Sam snapped, sending a glare his way. "What did you do to me?!"

"Whoa, easy there, tiger. I'm not at fault here, and just relax. I already called Bobby, and he's getting the dirt on this new monster mojo crap so don't go bitin' my head off just yet." he informed the tot.

Sam eased up, just the slightest, and looked for any trace that his brother was joking around, but found none. He looked thoughtful for a moment before sliding off the big bed, and running into the bathroom to check the damage himself. Dean shook his head, and followed suit, knowing the kid wouldn't be able to reach the mirror. And sure enough, he was right. Sam was trying to climb onto the rim of the sink, and Dean grabbed him right before he lost his balance and had started to tumble. "Watch it, Sam! You're going to hurt yourself doing that!" he scolded.

"Put me down, now!" Sam ordered, squirming in his older brother's grasp. He froze momentarily once he saw the reflection of a small brown-eyed child with curly brown locks blinking back at him. "Holy shit," he breathed, horrified. "I am a shorty!"

"Sammy?" Dean asked after the fidgeting stopped so abruptly. He gazed down at the younger Winchester, frowning at the look of despair that crossed his features. He pat the top of the boy's head, sighing. "You look a wreck, kiddo. Maybe you should take a bath now?" It wasn't an order, more of a suggestion and Sam nodded absentmindedly.

"I could use a shower now that you mention it," he agreed, settling back into Dean's arms.

"Aww, that's cute, Sammy. You actually think I'm gonna let you take a shower," Dean chuckled at the look of reproach he received from the toddler as he started to turn the water on in the bathtub. He had given it a lot of thought, and a bath seemed the safest way of getting clean for his brother, judging by how small he was, and how easy it was for him to slip and fall. Sam was about to give his 2 cents, but Dean held up a hand to silence him. "No arguments, runt. I'll let you take a bath alone, and no one gets hurt."

And if looks could kill, Dean would've been 10 feet under at that moment. It was going to be a _long_ morning for them both.

**XX-XX**

**TBC.** I would love to know what you all thought! :) If anyone does read it, that is. Review, please and thank you!


	2. The Pains of being Young

Thanks to all who have reviewed, favorited, and put me on their story alerts! You guys are awesome! :)

**XX-XX**

Convincing a stubborn toddler with the intellect of an adult that he was too little to bathe himself was not an easy task for Dean. And, just as he'd thought, it resulted in the complete submersion of his favorite leather jacket after his brother nearly drowned him trying to escape, and the soapy water that once resided in the tub covering the walls and floor of the small room, along with anything else that was caught in the midst of his splashing tantrum. _Freakin kid needs horse tranquilizers_, Dean griped to himself while wringing out the soaking wet towel, attempting to clean up the aftermath of Sam's bath. His clothes were drying in the next room, where said brother was getting dressed, and trying to regain some dignity.

It took only a few more minutes for Dean to finish up, and Sam was ready by the time he entered their shared bedroom. "Took you long enough, princess. I should've made you clean up that mess after the little stunt you pulled, " Dean remarked, pulling on a new t-shirt, "but I forgive you since I'm taller than you now, and cuz I'm such an awesome brother."

Sam rolled his eyes from his spot on the bed feigning annoyance, but he couldn't help but feel a hint of guilt twist his insides. "Sorry-" he started, instantly regretting it when he saw the cocky grin starting to form, and the real intent of the words hit him. "-sorry that you didn't let me take a damn bath on my own! I'm not a freaking baby, man!" He crossed his arms and glared at his brother, which didn't help him look more intimidating.

"Jeez, Sammy, maybe you need another bath since I forgot to wash out your dirty mouth," he jested, dodging the pillow that was thrown at his head. "What, can't take a _little_ joke, eh Sam?" He ignored the gesture his brother gave him, and searched around for their stuff. "Alright, lets pack up and hit breakfast on the road, and then I'll buy you some nicer clothes, how bout' it?" Dean was serious now, and smiled, relieved, when the 4 year old nodded in compliance. _Great, cuz I'd rather handle a whole swarm of vampires than a bad-tempered munchkin.. _

Once they were all checked out and packed, Dean thought it would be smooth sailing all the way to Bobby's until another issue sprung about.

"No, no way, I refuse, dude."

"Come on, Sam, I can't risk getting pulled over again."

"No, that's just humiliating!"

"Sam."

"Bite me."

"SAM!"

"NO WAY!"

Their shouting match was starting to get looks of disapproval from ongoing passerby in the parking lot, but neither one seemed to notice as they carried on. Unbeknown to Sam, his older brother had bought other things from the tiny gift shop, and was now trying to get him to use one of these items. The door to the Impala was hanging wide open, and a plastic car seat was harnessed securely around the back seat, trying to elude others from the fact that it didn't have seat belts. "Listen Sam, I'm really am sorry for what happened to you, but dude, hell if I'm gettin' pulled over just cuz my stubborn little brother won't suck it up and sit in a car seat! Now hop to it, we're wasting time!" he yelled, earning a few glares from the older onlookers at his choice of words.

"Forget it, " Sam stated defiantly, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm sitting up front, car seats be damned!"

Dean felt his head start to throb from the irritation; his brother had never behaved this way when they were younger. He could understand and sympathize with Sam on the car seat ordeal, but it was only temporary, and the kid was just being hard-headed on the whole matter. "Alright, I'm not going to tell you again, Sammy, park your scrawny butt in the back, or I do it for you," he threatened, eyes hardening in a stern gaze.

"Well doesn't that sound familiar," Sam spat, referring to their father, "and you can just abandon that idea of yours that I'm going to be in a car seat for the entire trip! You're insane, man!" He slammed the back door shut, easily slid past Dean's legs over to the passenger door, and almost closed the door behind him, but his brother had caught onto his plan quicker than he expected. In one swift motion, he had them both inside of the car, and Sam draped over his lap. He then delivered a series of swats to the covered backside, and maneuvered the reluctant boy into the car seat, with a little more force than he intended to. Sam didn't hold back his thoughts on the matter, either.

"What the hell?! That hurt you jerk!" he sniffled, rubbing the sides of his small thighs as much as he could, but the straps almost made it impossible. He wiped away the wetness welling in his eyes, trying to ignore the sting, and Dean almost felt bad for acting so rash.

He switched himself to the driver's side, throwing a quick apologetic smile Sam's way, knowing he wouldn't be forgiven until he was out of the car seat. He sighed, shrugging off the third degree, and focused on finding them a place to eat. "Ya know, you had that coming, Sammy so think what you want about me, but don't think that I won't do it again, wee-bitch."

And just as the motor gave a resolute purr in response to the ignition, he heard the slightest murmur of "_Jerk"_.

His lips twitched into a small smile, knowing he was forgiven, for now.

The convenient road-side diner Dean located had actually served decent food, peach cobbler being one of these decent dishes. Sam had settled himself to scrambled eggs with cheese, and his mood improved greatly when Dean surrendered his coffee over, as soon as the waitress had disappeared from view, hoping to maintain the peace between them once more. His brother had even smiled after that, not a complaint from him the rest of their meal, and just to show how appreciative Dean had been, he bought Sam a piece of chocolate cream pie afterwards.

They both left the restaurant in good spirits, and the drive down the smooth, rolling highway was peaceful once more. Other than Sam cursing the car seat a few times, which was to be expected, everything was fine. After the 6 hours of comfortable silence in which the younger Winchester slept through, Dean noticed they were approaching the border of Nebraska. _So, I should stop soon and get my brother more clothes. And maybe earn a few bucks first....Why was it a good idea to give in to the puppy dog eyes? I shouldn't have bought that last slice of pie either.._ He could almost feel the hole in his wallet, and knew he would have to either locate the nearest bar, or use the alternative method, which wasn't his most favorite one. He stole a quick glance in the backseat, averted his gaze back to the road once the kid was in check, and pulled out his cellphone.

_Oh shit, 7 missed calls. Bobby's gonna tear me a new one! _ He flipped through his missed calls, and wasn't surprised he also had 7 voice mails in his inbox. _Why didn't I call Bobby earlier? Ha. Too busy watching the rugrat, I s'pose_. His hazel-green eyes wandered down to the missed calls again, and they nearly bulged out of his sockets at the name scrawled across the screen. _Dad.._

* * *

"Dean..!" Sam whined from the backseat, breaking the older boy from his thoughts. "We have to stop, now, dude! I um, I...need to use the restroom!" It wasn't a total lie, but truthfully, he wanted to give his butt a break from the dreaded car seat, and sleeping just wasn't working anymore.

"I hear ya, Sammy," he agreed, pulling into the Nebraska Wal-Mart parking lot, which was as crowded as he hoped it wouldn't have been. _Shit. I better make this quick.._ he thought, spotting a space near the front of the store. Once they were parked, Sam started to fidget with the button that would release his restraints, but Dean stopped him with a no-nonsense look. The younger boy recognized the look all too well, knowing Dean was in big brother mode. "Listen, I know you don't want to hear this, but we're gonna be out in public once again. I think you know how you should act, " he raised an eyebrow at the innocent look Sam was giving off, "no swearing, no using geek-boy words in front of anyone, and don't- "

"-talk to anyone with smoking black eyes." Sam finished, grinning. "Seriously? I'm 22, not 4."

"Smart-ass," Dean snorted, shaking his head. "but seriously, man, you're physically a little kid, and things...people included...can just snatch you up like that!" He snapped his fingers for emphasize, and eyed his brother with a knowing expression. "You weren't 4 when those redneck yahoos kidnapped you so I'm not taking any chances this time, and you better be listening, Sam."

"Quit with the mother henning! I got it, Dean," he relayed, running a hand through his shaggy brown curls, while using his free hand to break himself from the restraints of the safety belt. Sam ripped away from the straps, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the accursed hunk of plastic, before Dean opened the back door to retrieve him. "Hey!" he protested as he was lifted into the older Winchester's arms effortlessly, who carried the squirming toddler all the way across the lot to the front of the store. He wrapped his jacket around the both of them, providing some shelter from the brisk November air. "Put. Me. Down." he demanded through clenched teeth, but his only response was shifting the irate toddler over to the opposite hip, and entering the crowded shopping center.

"Look, if you're a good little boy, I'll get you an ice cream cone!"

"Oh, shut up," the younger one sneered, but a glimmer of hope twinkled in eyes at the thought. It quickly vanished as they neared the kid's department where a bright array of clothing hung, tormenting him with the colorful logos, and cartoon characters. Much to his chagrin, Dean set his brother down, and rummaged through a wrack of long sleeved shirts, trying to find a few that satisfied their price range while Sam searched for jeans. He didn't let him stray too far from within his sight, knowing his brother would snap over the constant surveillance, but just enough that he could watch from his peripherals. He was glad that Sam was just as anxious as him for once to exit the store, and within a matter of minutes they had settled on a couple of outfits, and were making their way to check-out.

"Is it possible for you to put me down, huh?!" Sam demanded earning an amused grin from the older brother.

"Nope."

"Dick," he hissed, trying to slide from the tight grasp without much luck. "Once I'm myself again, the first thing I'll do is kick your ass, and then burn that freagin car seat!" Dean rolled his eyes, and lightly thumped the back of his head, warning him to calm down and act appropriately. Sam settled himself to seething in silence as they neared the front of the line when an idea struck him suddenly. He smiled ruefully.

"Hey, um, Dean?" he asked, trying to sound as innocent as he looked, pulling out the big brown puppy dog eyes. The older Winchester raised an eyebrow in suspiscion at the look, a bit skeptical at the sudden change of attitude. _What's he thinking? Must not be good if he has to use the eyes._

"Whatever it is you're planning, forget it," he informed him sternly, tightening his hold as a sign that he wasn't in the mood for games.

Shock held true in the bright round orbs, and Dean softened his resolve at the hurt look in the child's eyes. Maybe he had jumped the gun a little too quickly. "It's not that I don't trust you, dude, but I'm just, ah, you know...worried." The sheepish grin was accepted, and Sam had to surpass his triumphant smirk as a yawn to keep from revealing his true intent, which was going smoothly so far.

"It's alright, bro, but...I really have to use the bathroom." The pleading eyes. "Can I go?"

"We're almost to the front..if you could just hold it a little longer- "

" -it's an emergency- "

"Alright, but make it quick, and I mean quick! And you come right back to me, got it?" Dean scrunched his face up, disgusted. _Jeez, I sound like an old person._ He watched as Sam nodded, and slid down his legs, running toward the direction of the bathrooms. _Better not do anything crazy.._

"Thanks hon, and you have a nice day, too."

The attractive brunette managing the front register, who had caught onto the flirting hunter's game after a while, winked, handing him the reciept. He returned the gesture with a genuine smile, eyes twinkling playfully, before venturing off to find Sam. He had disguised his anxiety with anger from the fact that he had been forced to wait so long. _That kid is so slow! What's he doing his make-up or something?_

Dean barged into the restroom without a second thought, and only then did the worry consume him. "SAM!"

The tiled room was completely empty.

**TBC.**

Cliffy! BAM. So, what did ya'll think? Would've had it up sooner, but things don't always go the way you want them to. Reviews are nice. :)


	3. Just When You think Everything's Ok

_I can't even begin to say how sorry I am for making you all wait, but I hope you can see it in your hearts to forgive me. I've been sick for a while, no doctors involved though! *shudders* ...They scare me. I should've updated so much sooner, but then my doggy passed away... at least he's pain-free now...so I felt bad that I just kept pushing this aside. And now the long awaited chapter 3, which is extra long in length since you wonderful people had to wait so long. :/ Again, I'm so sorry, but life just bites you in the butt sometimes._

Last chapter recap: _Dean decided to stop at the local Wal-Mart and find a few things for his brother, and things took a turn for the worst once he discovered Sam MIA._

_And now ensues the Great Sammy search! :D Fun for the whole family, uhh, no warnings or any crap like that. Also, I do not own Supernatural or any of Kripke's gorgeous characters._

**XX-XX**

Dean furiously kicked down the last stall door in the confined space of the bathroom, fuming. He had scoured every inch of the room, checking each stall twice, even going as far as to unhinge the bolts from the air duct, which were child-sized in his defense, but there had been no sign of the kid. Anger combined with fear of losing his brother sparked a new emotion inside him, and he was relentless to find the boy. _Sammy, where the hell are you? _He pushed down the awful feeling of anguish and sprinted out of the bathroom, nearly knocking down an elderly man on his way out. Muttering a quick apology, Dean decided on what his next motive would be. He hastily weighed his options, fighting down panic as the seconds ticked by, and opted on going for the most sensible one without wasting anymore time.

_How the hell did you manage to sneak past me?_ he wondered, pulling out his cell phone in frustration. His eyes traveled over the crowds of shoppers in search of a mop of brown curls, scanning the area for the slightest indication of trouble as he tensely waited for Sam to answer.

But luck wasn't on his side today.

"Voice-mail, son of a bitch!"

He wanted to throw the phone across the room, release all of his pent-up anger, but he subsided; he didn't need the law breathing down his neck while in possession of fake credit cards. Pocketing the phone instead, he headed off in the direction of the front desk intent on finding out if Sam was still in the store. How much of a time lapse had there been between his check-out and Sam's disappearance in the bathroom? As he neared the customer service counter, a feeling of dread swept over him. What if his brother hadn't wandered off at all? Awful images of black-eyed monsters torturing Sammy entered his thoughts, and a chill ran down his spine. What if he had been kidnapped? His heart rate was probably spiking to an unhealthy rate just thinking about it, but he didn't care. He needed to find Sam.

"Yes sir, how may I help you today?"

The chipper voice broke Dean from his thoughts, snapping him back into reality. He glanced up, surprised to see a hazel-eyed woman with frizzy blond hair tied back into a ponytail, who looked to be in her mid 20s, staring expectantly at him. "Tracey?" He could barely comprehend the chicken scratch written on her name tag. "I need you to make a little announcement for me. My little brother is missing.."

Dean sighed, pacing the front desk back and forth, only stopping to steal glances at the crowd of shoppers that were slowly dispersing from the store. The sales woman had made the announcement asking that Sam please come to the head of the store ASAP nearly 20 minutes ago, and now he was just getting restless as more crazy thoughts started to swim around in his head. _What if Sammy is seriously hurt? What if some pedophile took him, and the sick bastard is molesting him?_ Anger flooded through his veins as the minutes passed by, and he wrung his hands together nervously, trying to ignore the incessant drumming of polished nails against granite. His patience was wearing thin, and it was killing him to just wait around like some chump. Fighting the supernatural he could handle, sending demons back to where they belonged wasn't a problem, but relying on a stranger's help where Sam was concerned irked him to no end. He just couldn't waste his time any longer because he needed to find Sam; it was his job.

Without a second thought, he left the cramped service station, deciding to try his brother's cell phone again and then head back to his precious car. He reached into his front pocket and no sooner had the tips of his fingers grazed the surface, it began to ring. He felt an overwhelming sense of relief flood through him at the name flashing across the screen, and quickly answered the call. "Sammy!" he bellowed out into the receiver, "Where the hell are you?"

**XX-XX**

Dean was furious. The little shit had spiked his keys, and had locked himself in the Impala the entire time.

_I'm gonna kill him, I'll freaking throttle him! _

He stormed out into the parking lot trying to remember where he had parked while also trying to keep his anger in check. His temple throbbed from the knowledge that his brother had never really been in any immediate danger, and that he nearly tore down the whole store looking for him. Spying the sleek black hood of the Impala, Dean rushed over to it, and sure enough he spotted the rebellious toddler occupying the passenger seat, looking more than a little anxious.

"Dean, what took you so long? And why is your face so flushed?" Sam questioned curiously after opening the door for his brother and snatching the bag of clothes.

Once in the car, Dean wasted no time in enveloping his younger sibling in a bone-crushing hug, much to Sam's surprise. He ignored the loud protests from the small boy, and held him tightly to his chest, afraid if he let go the child would vanish again. He squeezed his eyes shut, thoroughly relieved, and cradled Sammy in his arms as the boy tried to squirm away from the tight grasp. Finally, after nearly squeezing the life out of him, Dean loosened his grip and placed him onto his open lap, sighing. _He's safe now, relax Dean, relax_. The anxiety that had been ripping away at his insides earlier was slowly diminishing, and it felt as if someone had lifted a heavy weight from his shoulders. Breathing came easier now that his brother was safe, and he felt himself relax into the comfort of the seat as the relief settled in. His eyes snapped open at a sudden sharp pain in his side, and only then did he remember the cause of all his suffering.

He met the gaze of the aggravated toddler with an equally -if not more- frightening scowl of his own. Anger burned into his system as he resisted the urge to punch his lights out, and it took everything in him from lashing out at the little brat, who didn't seem at all upset that he had broken his promise to stay within sight. Sam opened his mouth to say something, but Dean cut him off with an abrupt swat to the backside.

"I swear to God, Sammy, you ever run off like that again, and I guarantee you won't be able to sit for a month!" Dean threatened, fighting and failing to keep the panic out of his voice. He saw the moisture start to gather in the younger's eyes at the threat and sudden increase in volume, and he was almost tempted to bury the little face in his chest, but anger won over in the end. "I'm not kidding around either! Understand me, little brother?"

Sam swiped furiously at the corners of his eyes, outraged by this turn of events. His brother had already spanked him before, and was threatening to do it again if he didn't listen like a "good little boy". The way he saw it, Dean was overreacting about the whole situation, being the overprotective jerk that he was, and he barely had a chance to even explain himself. He hated being smaller than his brother; it left him in control, and he always abused his powers. It just wasn't fair to him. Even though it would've been easier to just apologize, he was wrong to break the promise, but he was too angry to let his brother win this one. Fueled by the childish desire of getting even, Sam stealthily swiped the blade concealed in Dean's leather jacket, and before he could stop himself, plunged it deep into the interior of his brother's beloved Impala.

Instantly, Sam regretted his decision as Dean stared wide-eyed at the damage inflicted upon his baby.

"What the hell did you just DO?"

The toddler recoiled into the back seat, sputtering useless apologies as he tried to avoid Dean's outstretched hands. "I-I'm sorry, so..so s-sorry!" He stumbled over the car seat, landing hard against the door handle, and hearing a distinct click signaling it had opened. Dean watched his brother make a mad dash for freedom, but the 26 year old was sly, easily shuffling out the back door and after the toddler. Unfortunately, Sammy wasn't the fastest runner, and within minutes the older Winchester held his squirming sibling tightly, ignoring the crowd of onlookers that had stopped to see what all the fuss was about. He carried the 4 year old over to the hood of his car, and sat himself just above the front bender. Pulling a protesting Sam across his lap, he wasted no time in blistering the small backside out in the parking lot of Wal-Mart.

"D-dean, stop! Oww, p-please...come on!" Sam begged, blushing furiously from embarassment as some of the patrons began to laugh. The sting on his bottom wasn't pleasant either, and he dreaded the remaining 8 hours they would have to spend the rest of the way to Bobby's house. "I'm sorry! I'll n-never touch the car again, promise!" he cried, trying desperately to writhe his way off Dean's lap without much luck.

"No, you're not getting off that easy," Dean responded, frowning, "and this is for more than just the freagin car, Sam! I can always replace that, but there's no replacing your life." And with that, the older Winchester finished his tirade of swats as the crowd started to lose interest fast.

It was turning out to be a _long_ day after all.

* * *

The rolling countryside did nothing to ease the tension between the brothers, even after leaving the state of Nebraska far behind. Now with a rather sullen-looking Sam strapped in the back seat, and an irritated Dean in the front, they were closing in on the state line of South Dakota. The tense silence was starting to irritate Dean as he reached over toward the radio to drown it out with some good ol' Zeppelin. He trained his gaze away from the tear in the seat, the knife now secured tightly around his leg, and a shiver of anger reverberated down his spine in spite of the incident. _Sammy is banned from using knives forever, or at least until he apologizes to you baby,_ he thought with a frown.

He felt the ongoings of a headache starting to form, and he silently cursed himself for leaving the blade out in the first place. The soothing sounds of _Stairway to Heaven _soon blared through the speakers, and Dean felt his headache melt away under it's rhythmic beat as he began to hum along with the chorus. Sam, however, was aching with guilt as he shifted quietly in his car seat, wincing when the plastic rubbed against the tender area, and he couldn't find a comfortable enough spot. He hated shtrigas, he hated Wal-Mart, he hated crowded parking lots, he hated knives and precious Impalas, and he especially loathed car seats right now. In a few hours time they would reach Singer Salvage, where hopefully their wayward uncle would be waiting to shed some light on the situation. If anyone could fix this, it was Bobby Singer.

"Dean?" Sam tried to speak above the noise, but his voice wasn't as masculine as it used to be, and it sounded more like a soft whimper. Oh how he hoped Bobby would have a solution by the time they arrived at his place. Sighing, he tried again, a little louder and more forceful this time. "Hey, Dean?"

"We're not stopping until we get to Bobby's."

Sam concealed the hurt that had crossed over his features with a wounded sigh. He was worn out from the day's events, and wanted nothing more than a warm bed to rest in. After dwelling on how much stress he had caused his brother, he had wanted to apologize for it, not expecting to be shot down instead. He couldn't blame Dean for being angry with him, but he couldn't let it escalate any further. "Dean, that's not what I wanted- "

"-Think I'll call Bobby," Dean cut him off quickly, eyes never straying from the road ahead, "He'll want to know how far off we are...he's probably walking on pins and needles since we haven't called...God knows how many messages he's left."

"Dean, please," Sam pleaded earnestly, true sincerity showing in his eyes. "I know you're mad at me, you have every right to be, and I know you probably hate me now, but I just wanted to say, about the car..." he trailed off, eyes dropping down to his shoes, misting over with unshed tears. He rubbed at them with the balls of his fists, trying to hold back the falls; he really hated this leaky body. "I'm sorry," he whispered dejectedly, sounding as miserable as he looked. "I'll, I'll fix your car as soon as we get to Bobby's, ok? I promise...just...don't be mad?" he sniffed as a few tears rolled down his chubby face, making him look like a kicked puppy dog.

The despondency in his little brother's voice nearly caused the older brother to drive off the road, but he managed to regain control of the steering wheel at the last minute. He sighed, running a hand over his weary forehead, stealing a quick glance into the backseat. Sam was desperately trying to conceal his already tear-stained face, refusing to make eye contact, and it tore at his heart to see the kid so broken. "Ah Sammy, come on, you know I don't hate you, no matter how much of a pain in the ass you are." He turned around to face the toddler, frowning slightly. "Please don't cry, man...look, I'm not even mad anymore."

Sam slowly lifted his head only to be greeted with a reassuring smile. He dried his tears with the sleeve of his jacket, and managed a small smile in return. "I'm ok, it's this stupid baby body...but thanks, I swear I'll fix your car as soon as I can, promise. I just want you to know that I'm really sorry, and it will never happen again." he finished.

"Relax kiddo. I'm not one to hold grudges, and apology already accepted."

Sam felt some of the heavy tension between them lift and a comfortable silence settled in it's place with the exception of the classic rock music. He flinched as the tires rolled over another pothole, resisting the urge to just release himself from the restraints of the seat. He clenched his teeth, biting back a groan, and resigned himself to staring out the window at the rolling scenery, hoping it would take his mind off of the pain. Dean had pretended not to take notice of this at first, but after seeing how much strain his younger brother was in and how guilty the little one had looked, he started to feel bad. "Hey, why don't you lay down for a while, Sammy?" he suggested casually, smiling at the look of sheer relief that washed over his brother's face. It was like a bright light in the darkness just to see the smile that lit up the toddler's face as he broke free from the plastic prison, and flopped onto his stomach into the comfort of one of the spare blankets sprawled haphazardly across the backseat. _God, I hate chick flick moments, but damned if he isn't cute all bundled up like that_, Dean thought fondly, shaking his head at the thought.

After a few hours spent in content silence with the exception of Zeppelin's _Over the Hills and Far Away _guiding them along, Dean felt a buzz in his pocket. He felt around in his jacket and retrieved the device as it continued to sputter out the bridge to _Smoke on the Water_. "Bobby! Good to hear your voice again too...yeah, don't sound too excited now," he greeted sarcastically.

"Well maybe if you'd call me some time before hell freezes over, ya idgit!" Bobby all but yelled into the phone, a hint of worry interlaced into his remark. "Didn't you get any of my messages?"

"Sorry, dude, but I kinda had my hands full with the kid. Please tell me you found something, hell anything, to reverse this?" He heard a slight pause on the other end, followed by a withdrawn sigh, which was never a good sign. "I'm gonna take a shot out in the dark, and say that's a No."

"Well, not exactly..." Bobby countered, surprising the younger man. "I was looking up the lore on shtrigas, and found diddly on them being able to change adults into children, but then I thoughta something else," he took in a breath and spoke the next words carefully, "What if you're not dealing with a shtriga? What if the thing that turned your brother into a tyke was much more powerful?"

Dean snorted. "Bobby, I killed the damn thing! Of course it was a shtriga! Not that it's not a valid suggestion or anything.." he added quickly.

"I know, I know! I'm not damn stupid, boy!" the older hunter argued, "But did you actually see it turn Sam? As crazy as it might sound, and we face crazy on a daily basis, I think we're dealing with something else here. Shtrigas can only steal the life forces out of children, suck the lives out of humans, but I've only heard of 2 creatures powerful enough to commit age regression. Are you sure you didn't see anything else lurking around that motel?"

The younger hunter thought back to that day, trying to relay all that his little brother had told him. "No, I found him under a heap of blankets, but Sammy said he remembered hearing screeching from a distance. But, he was really out of it so that witch could've been messing with his head or he just imagined those noises.."

"Screeching?" Bobby cut him off, suddenly sounding worried.

"Yeah, but that hell bitch gave me an ear full once I barged in. I wouldn't worry too much about it, Bobby."

A drawn out huff of indigence from the other line suggested otherwise, and Dean rolled his eyes. Of course it was something to worry about; they hunted monsters for a living!

"I'll be the judge of that, boy. You two just get your asses down here before something picks up your scent. I'm way too old for this shit."

Dean bit back a laugh, and his insides kicked nervously as he prepared himself to ask the one question that had been bothering him from the start of their predicament. "Sure, old timer, but...um, can I ask you something first?"

"What's up, kid?"

He swallowed uneasily, and masked the worry bubbling in his stomach with a loud cough. "Well, h-have you heard from my dad lately?"

"John?" The gruff hunter sounded surprised. "No, he hasn't spoken to me in a while, the stubborn idiot, why do you ask?"

Dean debated on whether or not to mention that he had called, but after hearing the irritated sigh on the other end, the choice seemed clear.

"No reason. I'll call you back though; I'm getting a rocky signal.

Dean quickly ended the call before the older hunter could rebuttal, and slipped his track phone back into the glove box. There was something very unsettling about the way the short conversation had turned, and it left the older Winchester with a nasty feeling in his gut. _What would pick up our scent? _Dean wondered as millions of possibilities streamed through his mind, and he stole a quick glance into the backseat for comfort. Sam was tucked into the blankets, one hand clutching the frilled edges of the tattered comforter, and the other was carelessly thrown over his face to cover the drool that was starting to leak from his mouth. Knowing that the kid was safe, he smiled, and it seemed to give him a renewed sense of vigor as the car rolled easier down the road. Catching sight of an exit that was hastily approaching, he decided to stop and refuel both of his babies and himself before journeying down the vast interstate that would transfer them to Iowa. The large green sign flashing BP welcomed him as he pulled into the small gas station and squeezed past a double decker truck that was blocking the gas tanks. Finding an open tank, he quickly wedged into the space and shut the engine off.

"Sam, wakey wakey, " he called into the backseat, climbing out of the vehicle and around to the back. "you're getting your nasty baby spit on my seats, short stuff."

He half expected a fight to commence since his little brother tended to be a late sleeper, but to his surprise the 4 year old sat up on his own, wiping the saliva off his face with the blanket that was still wrapped around him. He shuffled his way out of the backseat slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes in the process.

"Why are we stopped? I thought Bobby's was farther..." Sam said, a puzzled look on his face. He looked uneasy about the whole situation, but Dean figured it was just motion sickness from being trapped in the car for so long.

"We're at a gas station, my brotha. You want anything?"

"Just a water, " he mumbled, leaning against the front tire tritely. "...not that hungry."

Dean pulled out his wallet, fishing around for a credit card to pay for the gas with before eyeing his brother worriedly. "What's up kid? You look a wreck. You ok?"

Trying to busy himself by pumping gas, Dean hoped the younger boy hadn't caught some kind of a flu bug, or that he was suffering from the aftereffects of the beatdown he had endured earlier. They already had enough on their plates, what with the yellow-eyed demon hunt looming over their heads and the endless search for their father, and Sam getting sick was something that they didn't need. He was vulnerable at his tiny size and an easy target for their enemies.

"Dean?" the toddler asked uncertainly, gaining the older hunter's attention again. "I, um, kind of...overheard you talking..."

"I thought you were sleeping, " he responded casually, praying that Sam would leave that as is but that was inevitable.

"You, maybe, uhm.." Sam looked down at his shoelaces, finding sudden interest in them and leaving his words hanging in mid-air. He felt unsure about how to approach the question now, but he so badly wanted to find their dad so he urged himself to say something. "You were talking about dad, I heard. Why did you ask Bobby if he called? Did...he?"

"He left a message on my phone, and I thought maybe he would've gotten in touch with Bobby first." he replied slowly, placing the nozzle back into it's gauge.

"And this wasn't important to mention or anything?" Sam shot back indignantly, incensed that his brother withheld information about their father from him. Dean knew how important it was, how much it mattered to _him_, that they find John. He tried to control his attitude, thinking back to earlier's incident and not wanting to relive the embarrassment, and settled on sulking in silence. Dean recognized the pouty expression and stubborn jaw set, knowing that Sam could be a real pain in the ass when he was irritated. Trying to avoid an all out temper tantrum, he plucked a twenty out of his wallet and brandished it to the boy, hoping that would be enough to pacify him for now.

"We'll talk about this later, I promise. Now go get us some grub for the road, and see if they have peanut M&M's!" he instructed, digging the keys out of his pocket and out of Sam's reach.

"Whoa, you're letting me go in alone?" Sam questioned, words laced with sarcasm. "Shocker."

Against his better judgement, Dean conceded to letting the toddler go in on his own. He still hadn't recovered from the Wal-Mart scare, but he wasn't going to let his little brother out of his vision, and he wanted a chance to call John again without having to worry about his brother eavesdropping. It wasn't that he didn't trust his brother, but Sam would hammer the man with questions instead until it erupted into an argument, and they didn't need anymore stress than they already maintained. Before the youngest Winchester could take another step, Dean grabbed the back of his t-shirt and whirled him around so that they were face-to-face. "But I'll be watching you like a hawk so if you try anything funny, so help me, I'll be on you faster than a drug addict on dope."

The younger boy raised an eyebrow in confusion, but nodded just the same. "You're a little scary sometimes, you know that?"

"Damn straight. I have eyes in the back of my head, you know."

Sam rolled his eyes at the remark, and after promising his brother he would behave, he headed into the store to purchase their treats. After he watched Sam trod in to the convenient store, he quickly pulled out his cell phone and dialed for John Winchester. He waited with baited breath for the endless ringing to stop, all while keeping a sharp lookout for his little brother, and was disappointed when he heard the recorded message on his dad's voice mail at the other end. Looking down, he realized with dismay that he was losing reception and the little black bars on his phone had almost completely disappeared. Dean felt his brows crease in annoyance, and he let out a string of curses for the second time that day, earning him a dirty look from the soccer mom in the SUV stationed across from the impala. "What? It's a free country!" he yelled back at her, undeterred. She rolled her windows up in response, and drove off to find another gas station, Dean guessed, that didn't contain vigilantes screaming dirty words to the heavens. He held the device skyward to see if his 3G would kick in, but the signal seemed to be deficient. _Out in the middle of BFE, why am I not surprised_? he groused to himself before turning his attention back to the little store. The line of cars had started to pick up, and they had arrived just in time to get a spot as the traffic started to pile in.

The big double Decker truck had finally moved from their view, and Dean didn't pay much attention to where it was headed as he tried to get a visual on Sam. He stepped to the side, and finally caught sight of his brother hightailing it out of the store and the truck swinging around to find an exit just as a Saturn Ion pulled into the wrong turn. Horns blaring in both directions caught the older hunter's attention, and he looked up in alarm. His breath caught in his throat, and all he had time to register was the awful screeching of tires and screams of the customers as they all collided.

* * *

_:O I bet you just hate me now! Another cliffhanger, my dears. _

_I haven't given up on this story, just to let everyone know. :) Again, please don't throw things -**dodges bricks**- but you can yell if you want to. Review_?


	4. Reunion At Bobby's

_Hi, so, I know it's been a year but I finally updated. I've got poison ivy for those of you that probably cursed me so you can put down those shotguns. As a small recap, Dean watched his brother run out into the midst of a disaster on wheels right before he tried once again at contacting his dad. Warnings: Slight swearing in this chapter. No offense intended to anyone. _

**XX-XX**

Time seemed to freeze as Dean watched the large utility vehicle crush the Ion, shattering the windshield into tiny bits of glass that sprayed a fine mist around his feet. He felt a rush of panic followed by the awful thud of his heart beating wildly against his chest as a thousand grotesque images flashed through his mind. He barely registered the screams from the crowd that had gathered near the pumps as he hightailed it over to the collision, boots crunching over stray pieces of broken glass.

The foul stench of burnt rubber and smoke filled the air as he approached the wreckage. His heart nearly stopped at the sight of blood smeared against the front bender of what was left of the damaged car, and he felt ill at the thought of his little brother trapped somewhere underneath. Or worse yet, _dead_. Fear of the unknown only clouded his judgment and he tried to push away those thoughts as he frantically cried Sam's name over and over again. He stepped closer but felt strong hands grip the back of his arms and pull him away from the area.

"Sammy, hold on!" he bellowed, fighting against the arms that bound him. The paramedics had arrived, and a few of them were trying to restrain the older Winchester from nearing the accident, unaware of his purpose.

"Sir, we're going to need you to calm down.." one soothed, ready with a tranquilizer if push came to shove.

"I am calm," Dean grunted out, struggling against their surprisingly strong hold with a fierce determination in his emerald eyes. "You guys are just pissing me off!"

"Everyone needs to clear the area," the same man spoke urgently, rushing him in the opposite direction away from the site while motioning to his teammates to spread out. "It's not safe to be around here!"

Sirens shrieked in the distance and a division of squad cars sped into the gas station behind the ambulances. A crowd had gathered in front of the double decker bus and Dean saw that he wasn't the only one being ushered back to safety. A girl, maybe a little older than him and on the verge of hysterics, was being dragged away from the smashed remains of the car and over to the ambulance, screaming something incoherent about her boyfriend. He would've felt remorse for her if his own mind wasn't screaming a mantra in his head repeatedly. _Sam. Sam. Sam. God, please, Sam. _

It felt as if his ears would start to bleed if the pounding in his skull didn't subside as panic shot through him like 10,000 volts of electricity, and that earlier feeling of suffocation was making itself known again. Fed up with being manhandled by the men in white, Dean allowed his elbow to connect with the side of the man's face and used his free hand to deliver a swift blow to just below the other guy's kidneys before they both released him.

Dean then ran into the crowd, screaming his brother's name at the top of his lungs as the store came into view. He kicked aside a stray chunk of metal blocking the entrance to the sliding doors and forced them open manually. Smoke fumes radiating off of the truck filled the small store and his lungs, but he rushed in regardless. "Sammy! S-Sam answer me!" he spluttered, coughing, stumbling his way around the aisles.

Other than the commotion from outside, the little store was silent. No signs of curly locks of brown hair or dewy, puppy dog eyes anywhere, and the older hunter was close to a breakdown. _Please be ok. I'm going to have a full head of gray hair before I turn 30 if this keeps happening! Sam.. _

His head snapped up at the sound of whimpering, and he followed the noise to the very back of the store.

The whimpering, closer now, turned to sniffles and he rounded the corner to be met with the shivering, soot-covered face of his younger brother. Relief spread through him like wildfire and diminished into concern when the shaking bundle of nerves remained catatonic. He crouched down next to the boy and cupped a hand on his cheek, brushing away flecks of ash under his eyelids. "Sammy?" he questioned softly, frowning at the unresponsiveness. "Come on, man, we have to get going. Now is not a good time to go AWOL on your big brother."

He felt the boy tremble under his touch causing worry to twinge his insides further, but he had to get Sam out of the store before the smoke permeated the air in his lungs.

_And in mine, _he added as an afterthought, terrified to even think about what would happen to his vulnerable brother if he was gone. Clearing those ideas out of his head, Dean pulled his little brother into his arms and used his jacket to shield him from the carborator fumes as he hauled ass out of the shop. Once they were in the clear, he avoided the flurry of people assembling around the wreckage and headed toward one of the remaining emergency vehicles once he spotted a medic that wasn't being harassed for information from the herd of reports now fretting about the scene like buzzards preying on dead livestock.

Sam, rendered motionless until he saw the medic, laid his head against his brother's shoulder and sagged into him, whether for support or comfort, Dean didn't know. He wouldn't say a word, and only seemed capable of staring off into the distance with an unreadable expression set on his dirty but unusually pale face and freaking his older brother out to no end. He couldn't find any traces of blood on Sam, but the silence sent shivers of unease down his spine from his normally talkative little brother. The man in uniform, now close enough to spot the unmoving toddler in the hunter's arms, rushed over to the duo and pulled out his kit. "Do you folks need some help over here?" he stipulated, noting the grime and various scrapes that mainly covered the boy.

"My brother...I-I think he's shell-shocked..." Dean explained wearily, a bead of sweat rolling down his cheek, "...will you check him over?"

"Bring him over to the back, sir," the man directed in a surprisingly firm and confident voice, albiet his lanky frame and soft blue eyes suggested otherwise. Dean hurried to comply, shifting his precious cargo onto his left hip and joining the paramedic into the back of his van.

"Sammy, hey kiddo, this guy isn't going to hurt you. He's going to help you, ok?" Dean soothed him in that voice reserved only to comfort little brothers as he handed Sam over to the medic reluctantly, wishing more than anything the kid would speak.

And it was like a light switch had gone off in Sam's brain as soon as he was placed into the stranger's arms. He reacted as if he'd been zapped with a cattle prod and awareness sparked in his hazel eyes. All at once tears were streaming down his face, arms reaching out for his brother, calling out for him to save him, make all the bad things go away and put the fear of God into those that tried to hurt him. To say that the older hunter was shocked was an understatement, and the poor man holding the now flailing child almost dropped him in surprise. "Dean, no! I-I want Dean!" he wailed, struggling against the arms that bound him away from his desired object.

"Whoa! Sammy, calm down," he ordered, taking the kid away from the blonde-haired man before the poor shmuck got himself a tiny tennis shoe to the face, "I'm right here. I gotcha."

Sam wrapped his arms tightly around his brother's neck and clung to him like a leech, breathing heavily into his shoulder. Dean masked his confusion with concern as he held him for a moment until the sobs quieted down into sniffles. _Definitely not normal brooding Sam behavior, more like clingy, adorable little brother Sam behavior I used to know_, he decided, linking this somehow with the shritga.

"Uh, I think it's safe to say the little guy is fine. Maybe a bit dirty, but nothing soap and water can't fix," the medic reported ineptly, scratching his head awkwardly. "I think the best diagnosis I can give is to get him out of here. Being around the accident is probably scaring him."

_Really? Why would you think that?_ is what Dean wanted to say, but he bit his tongue and thanked the paramedic instead.

Once the boys were safely out of earshot from the medic and heading in the direction of the Impala, Dean forced his brother to face him, tears or not.

"What the hell was that all about?" he asked, seeing the fear in the kid's eyes ignite again. They glistened with a batch of fresh new ones, and sure enough started to leak down his face. Concerned but not wanting to unleash the waterworks again, Dean softly asked, "Sammy, what's wrong? You know you can tell me, little bro."

Wiping his wet nose with the sleeve of his brother's jacket, Sam looked just as young as he felt when he answered, "I forgot your peanut M&Ms.."

A long stretch of silence passed between the two as the older Winchester tried to think of a suitable response for that.

"Sam," Dean began sheepishly, smiling, "it's alright, buddy. I'm just glad that you're alive." He brushed the sooty tears away with his thumb, expecting a smile or at least an eye roll from the kid, but frowned when neither happened.

Sighing, he opened the back door to the Impala and prepared to strap his brother into the carseat. To his astonishment, Sam gave not a word of protest and sat quietly while he buckled him in; he was starting to wonder if the crash had done more damage than it appeared. The older brother was worried, nonetheless. With a final glance at his sullen brother, Dean shut the door and pulled his baby out of the crowded gas station, thankful they weren't being blocked in by all the emergency vehicles.

"So you're awful chatty back there," Dean jibed, hoping to get a rise out of him before they arrived at Bobby's place. Sure, he was grateful that he didn't have to listen to him complain, but it killed him to see the kid so upset and to boot after his narrow escape from death. He didn't want his brother to shut down again after he was still healing from Jessica's death, which he refused to speak about even now.

Sam lifted his head up in acknowledgement, features taut, but he didn't comment. The boy really knew how to pull at his heartstrings.

"Sam, seriously, what's up with you? I can only take the whole brooding bitch boy routine for so long. Did something else happen back there?"

"No," he answered a little too quick, raising Dean's suspicion further.

"Nothing else to add?" He was going to press for as much information as he could get out of his brother before he had a chance to spiral downwards. Setting the cruise control since they were back on the interstate, he turned to face the curly mess of brown hair and bright hazel eyes with a frown. "You're going to spill your guts one way or another, kid." he said in a more severe and orderly voice.

"I'm sorry, alright!" Sam shrieked, feeling the heat creep up the back of his neck from embarrassment because someone his age, his _real_ age, shouldn't sound like Mickey Mouse.

Dean kept a straight face in spite of the outburst, but he could see the guilt in his brother's eyes.

"I panicked, Dean..." the distraught child continued with a moan, "My head was telling me to move out of the way, all the years of training with dad, I don't know...it was like someone stuck me in the middle of a war movie and I couldn't dodge the bullet in time."

"-But you did."

Sam shook his head stubbornly, curling in on himself. "That's not important. I hesitated and there was all that blood. Y-you didn't hear that girl screaming..."

"And what, Sam," Dean pushed relentlessly, dropping to a more serious pitch, "you think that's your fault? The crash? You didn't cause it! You were damn near crushed by it but that's way out of your control. Now I know that it freaked you out, hell I was, but it's not your burden to bare this time," he softened his tone at the bleary eyes blinking back at him, "you have to let that go, Sammy." _You have to let her go._

Sam peered up at his brother through a haze of pain and tears, understanding the words unspoken. He ached for affection now, feeling cold and alone in the plastic prison, but whisked away the childish idea of climbing onto his older brother's lap and snuggling against him like an amorous kitten. That would be inappropriate for someone his age, and he wasn't one to go against protocol. _Suck it up, _a gruff, little voice that sounded oddly similar to his dad's, directed him. _You're a Winchester. There's no room for weakness in this family_.

"Sammy, you alright now?" Dean asked fearfully, noticing the blank look on the boy's tear-stained mug, fearing that he was relapsing back into his stupor.

"M'fine, Dean," he answered, the slightest bit of hesitation wavering in his tone. He refused to meet those emerald eyes again, afraid of the anger he knew was lurking there.

Disbelief was written all over Dean's face as he hurriedly switched lanes to catch their exit. Checking to make sure that traffic was all clear, he turned back around to face his brother, horrified to see that he was crying once again. _This kid is going to have me bawling in a second if he doesn't stop. _"Hey, what's all this now? You're going to flood my backseats, dude. Add that to the damage to the front seat and you're going to be spending a whole week making repairs for her," he teased, smiling, despite the lump in his throat from not being able to soothe his little brother.

Sam didn't find humor in his remark, instead ducking his head down in alarm. "I promised I'd fix it, Dean," he murmured, wiping away the wetness on his round cheeks. "Just please don't..." he paused, unable to formulate the right words.

"Don't what?" Dean repeated, urging his brother to finish his thoughts.

"You know...about earlier..." Sam found sudden interest in the threading of the carseat, weaving his finger in and out of the gold lining; he still wasn't used to the idea of discussing this with his brother, no matter how many times he had endured it as a child. He felt his face flush red from the indecency of it all and another wave of wetness welled in his eyes. _Stupid hormones! _

"Ah, Sammy, a lot of things happened earlier. If this is about the peanut M&Ms, man, I can just stop and get more. It's really no big deal," he reassured him.

A surge of relief passed over the younger Winchester, but he needed one more issue resolved before he could relax. "So, um, you're not going to spank me then?"

"Christ Sam, no! What, do you think I'm some kind of abusive asshole?" Dean demanded, thrown for a loop by the sudden subject change.

"No, but it seems to be your latest trend now since I changed," he explained carefully, "and you can't deny that!"

"Oh no! Don't make me look like the bad guy here! You totally deserved those. I wouldn't just beat your ass if I didn't think you needed it, come on. You're old enough to know right from wrong."

"I know right from wrong," Sam huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "If anyone doesn't, it's you."

Dean rolled his eyes, turning back around to face the highway. They were only a few more miles away from Singer Salvage and he did not want to spend them arguing with a four year old.

Cool, autumn air sauntered it's way into the slightly cracked windows as rows and rows of wheat fields rolled by welcoming them into South Dakota. Sam stared, transfixed, at the way they seemed to blend into one stream of endless gold and found himself falling victim to their alluring motion of harmonic rhythm. Soon his eyes were drooping and it was getting difficult to keep his head from swaying against the side of the cushioned plastic. Every time he felt the cool substance connect with his skin, he jolted awake as if shocked by an electric eel, much to the amusement of his older brother. Dean snickered when he saw the kid jerk awake for the third time since they had gotten onto the main drag. "Actually getting some sleep is not going to kill you dude." he announced from the front seat, startling the toddler.

"I'm not tired," Sam replied, bordering on a whine, "I think I may just be suffering from highway hypnosis."

"No, I think you're just a freak," Dean shot back. He grinned at the irritated groan that followed next, relishing those moments when he could annoy the hell out of his younger brother. "Besides, it's he who drives the car that gets the hypnosis. You're just a backseat bitch, no scratch that, a bitter backseat bitch stuck in a bitty body. Try saying that one five times fast."

It was like dangling a worm in front of a hungry fish; Sam took the bait easily. "That's sad coming from you," he goaded, grinning, "I've heard better from Carrot Top."

"Don't you ever compare me to that misfit ginger. Ever." Dean groused, eyes ablaze with hatred for the red-haired comedian. "You know how I feel about that guy."

"How can you hate someone that you've never met?" Sam mused, satisfied that for once he had the upperhand.

"Why don't you tell me, clown boy."

And with that remark, the older brother regained his place as the victor.

"That's a low blow! And especially for someone my size. You should feel ashamed," he admonished, shaking his head in disappointment. "Picking on a kid...that's sick, Dean."

Dean scoffed. "You're 22, goofball. Remember?"

The younger Winchester remembered, it was hard for a person not to forget when they could no longer reach the top cuboard, sit in a seat that wasn't boosted, or have constant supervision wherever he or she went, but sometimes it just slipped his mind. It was better not to think about such things, and he had to laugh at them or else he would cry, and that wasn't acceptable. He had enough crying for one year, thank you very much. With a long suffering sigh, Sam let his mind drift away from those depressing thoughts and back into reality. "How much farther until Bobby's?" he asked, shifting his small body to the left to get more comfortable.

"'Bout three miles exactly," He stretched his legs out, trying to work the kinks out of his knees from sitting in that position for so long. "I hope the old man cooked us up a meal. I'm freaking starving, my brother. I haven't eaten since, well, this morning." And just to prove his point, his stomach gave a loud rumble in protest.

"I could eat," Sam agreed, clutching his own grumbling tummy.

The rest of the drive to Singer Salvage was spent with the brothers chatting back and forth about various foods such as spaghetti and meatballs, Bobby's famous spicy chili, and even the homemade apple pie that his neighbor across the street sometimes dropped off as a special treat for the boys when they were around. Dean pulled into the gravel driveway a little too eagerly with the thought of a home cooked meal in mind. Sam had dozed off a mile back, and they both failed to notice the rusty old pick-up truck parked off to the side near the auto yard. Dean drove over to an empty space next to Rumsfield's kennel, whom was barking to alert his owner of their arrival.

He damn near hopped out of the car, dragging Sam and the duffles along with him as they approached their surrogate uncle's house. Sam opened his eyes sleepily at the wonderful aroma of pan fried deliciousness, only groaning a little once he realized he was once again in Dean's arms. "I am capable of walking, " he explained without malice this time, but ditched the hope of being put down at the look in Dean's eyes. "Fine, but only because I'm food deprived," he conceded.

"Yeah and Rumsfield would use you as his pillow if I set you down."

Dean laughed at the image of his brother being squashed by the 45 pound Rottweiler, but the laughter ceased once the door swung open in front of them.

Expecting the bearded, base-ball cap wearing figure of the salvage owner, they were at a loss for words instead upon finding the calloused face of John Winchester smiling back at them. The bewildered silence seemed to drag on forever before he spoke, even Rumsfield had stopped barking.

"Boys," he greeted in that same gruff tone he used the last time he had surprised them. "I was wondering when you were going to get here."

"Dad, what?" Dean stammered, completely blown away by his presence. He almost forgot about the 3 foot bundle in his arms, and nearly dropped poor Sam in astonishment.

"Dad, you're alive..." Sam babbled, bringing wide hazel eyes to meet the dark brown ones staring down at him in wonder.

"Sammy, god, what happened to you?" John breathed, taking in the sight of his former 22 year old son with affection. He hadn't seen those curls in a long time, not since their home in Lawrence, and memories of his kids, young and innocent, came flooding back to him. He analyzed both of his children, taking in their tired eyes and dirty faces with concern.

"I think this has to be the third shock of my life today. Jeez, it's good to see you, dad. Where have you been? Why didn't you answer any of my calls?" Dean suddenly found his voice again after regaining his composure, getting a firmer grip around his brother to keep him from sliding off his hip.

"I think I should be asking you the same thing. In fact, Bobby's been trying to reach you boys for the past 3 hours." he answered, furrowing his brow at his oldest. "Care to explain that?"

"Uh, well," he started, shooting a look down at Sam who refused to meet his eyes, before bringing his gaze back up to meet his old man's. "It's complicated." was the best he could do.

John looked like he wanted to add on, but was interrupted by another voice from behind. "If you idgits are done with your reunion, dinner's ready...and Dean, shut the door. Were you raised in a barn?"

Dean quickly stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him, never one to disobey an order. A million questions were streaming through his mind, he could only imagine what his little brother must be thinking, but the scrutinizing glares from both the older men rendered him speechless. Confused as to why they looked so pissed at him, he decided that would be his first question. The mystery of why his dad suddenly showed up at the old man's house after being threatened with an ass-full of buckshot, what kind of information he had gathered about the demon, and if Bobby found any shred of news about Sam's condition could all wait until later, maybe after they ate too.

"Sam," Bobby said, eyes clouding over with emotion at the talkative little boy he hadn't seen in years. "You, boy, you're covered in filth! Please tell me your idiot brother didn't do this to you."

"Whoa, wait a minute!" Dean protested, tired of being the bad guy. He was silenced with a sharp look from Bobby, but that didn't stop him from mumbling furiously under his breath.

"No, this isn't Dean's fault," Sam told them, but didn't say much more on the matter.

"Well, this isn't exactly the warm welcome I was expecting." Dean griped, setting his much younger brother along with their duffle bags down on the floor next to him. "Doesn't anybody greet with a nice hey, how are you doing anymore?"

"Who the hell's house do you think you're at, boy? This ain't the Cleavers. Do I look like Martha to you?" Bobby snarked, resting his hands on his hips.

Thankfully, John intervened before any smartass comment could leave his oldest's lips. "Dean, you go upstairs and take a shower. I'll clean Sammy up and then you both can eat. Afterwards, we'll _all_ explain later." he commanded, putting emphasis on the last word to indicate they would be in store for a nice long talk after dinner.

Dean nodded begrudgingly, giving the kid a pat on the head and hauling his bag over his shoulder before making his way up the rickety, ancient staircase. Once they could no longer hear the clompy footfalls of his boots on the hardwood, John turned to face his youngest, feeling that familar pang every time he looked into the hazel eyes. "What have you and Dean been into, kiddo?"

"Just the usual," Sam answered him with as much bravado as he could muster, but the guilt in his eyes must've been a dead give away because John tilted his tiny head back knowingly.

"Hmph, ashes it looks like," he mumbled, confirming it with Bobby who nodded in agreement. Next, he scooped his child into his arms, much to Sam's dismay, and carried him into the kitchen towards the sink. Sam squirmed a little at first in his grasp, but it felt nice to see his dad again, and he didn't mind so much when the man wrapped him into his warm embrace, smelling of old cologne and leather. He returned the hug and let himself settle into the strong arms, forgetting that he was older once again. After a few moments passed, with the help of Bobby's gruff reminder that he wasn't getting any younger, John placed his son onto the marble countertop and started the warm water in the sink. Bobby rifled through one of the many drawers next to the fridge and handed his friend a wash cloth and towel to use on the boy. "Thanks, Bobby. I really appreciate this, you know."

"I heard it already, John. No more apologizing. Or else, I might change my mind about what I said earlier if I have to hear more ass kissing from you," he said, rolling his eyes with just a hint of a smile forming at the corner of his lips. It left Sam in wonder of what was exchanged earlier between the two old friends, but his curiosity would have to wait.

"Don't have to worry about that, Singer."

Sam didn't trust the tones in their voices, but who was he to try to unveal the secrets of stubborn old hunters? Instead, he focused on the wet, soapy rag heading his way, mortified at the prospect of his dad wiping his face off in front of Bobby and in the middle of where they ate! "Dad, wait, what are you doing?" he moaned, ducking under the offending object and having it miss the top of his head by inches. "God, you're as bad as Dean! I can do it myself," he offered, holding his small hand out expectantly.

He heard the barely contained chuckles of his uncle behind John and scowled when nothing happened.

"Look, Sam, it's not that you can't..." John reasoned, resting his firm gaze on his youngest. "I just think it would go much faster if I did it. Hows about it, sport?"

Sam shook his head adamantly, but it seemed like he didn't have a choice in the matter when his dad brought the sudsy rag down onto his face anyways. He scrubbed the soot off his son's forehead, and went for the mop of dark curls next. "Close your eyes," he commanded gently, not wanting to get soap in them. When the hazel eyes remained opened, John patiently covered the kid's eyes with his hand and poured the cup of warm water offered by Bobby onto his baby's head. Sam shivered now that he was drenched with soapy water, and wasn't prepared for what happened next.

His dad actually had the nerve to pull his shirt off without so much as a warning. "Dad!" he protested, balling his hands into fists. "What the hell?"

"Hey, watch the tone, Sam and calm down. Did Dean get clothes for you?" he asked, but found that pointless. _Of course he did_. The kid was always prepared when it came to his brother, and sure enough, Bobby pulled out a t-shirt, pajama pants, and boxers Sammy-sized from the duffle bag at his feet.

"I can put them on, Bobby." Sam assured him, wrapping the towel around his chest. "I still know how to do that, I swear."

"Yeah, but you always got the shirt stuck on your head," John chuckled, remembering a disoriented Sammy crying for him to stop the clothes monster from eating his head.

"When I was actually four!" he yelled back, agitated. "Which was about, oh, say, 18 years ago!"

John sighed, forgetting how stubborn his child could be when he wanted to do things his way. He smiled; he could relate. He ignored the yelling for now, and removed the towel from around Sam to dry his hair first. Once that was completed, he went to work pulling on the clean shirt and managed to shuck off the dirty jeans next. Sam felt his cheeks flush in embarassment as he was half naked in the middle of the kitchen. "We couldn't at least move this to the bedroom, dad?" he groaned, yelping when his dad reached for his boxers next. "No, No. Freaking. Way." he enunciated each word forcefully, scrambling off of the counter and out of both John and Bobby's reach.

He made a mad dash for the living room, but collided right into Dean after being so close to freedom. "Whoa, where do you think you're going there, speedy?" his older brother grinned, snatching him from under the armpits before he could escape. He took in the pouty expression and loss of pants, and ruffled the damp hair sympathetically. "Awuh, cheer up, Sam I am, it could be worse. You could be entirely naked."

Sam sniffed as he was carried back into the kitchen. "At least you got to use the shower and put your clothes on by yourself. This sucks."

Dean rubbed his back as he listened to his baby brother sulk. "I'm sorry, kiddo. What if I convince them to let you do the rest yourself? I'm almost 100% sure you can handle that."

Thank God for understanding older brothers. Sam never looked so happy to hear that, and coming from Dean of all people! He glanced up at him, skeptical. "Really?"

"Yeah, really. I know I can be overbearing sometimes, but there are just some things you need to do by yourself. I'm not even sure if dad knows what privacy is."

Dean stopped short at the bristling hunters and carefully lowered Sam to the floor before presenting his case. "Look you two hard heads, let the kid put his own clothes on. Do you want to scar him for life? Well, besides the whole monsters under your bed are real, but honestly, that's a little much. He's not going to hurt himself with this! How long has he been doing this without you now?" he scolded.

Bobby traded looks with his friend before handing Dean the clothing. "Alright, alright, you made your point, son. Now hurry up before dinner gets cold!"

The younger hunter didn't bother to hide his triumphant smirk as he traded the clothes off to Sam, who was staring up at him in admiration. "Can you say best brother in the world?"

"You're a saint, Dean," Sam gushed, holding the clothes like they were treasures, "I take back all the bad things I've ever said about you."

"What things?" he badgered, but the child had already scampered away into the next room to get changed. _Little bitch. Last time I ever do something nice for him._

"Dean," John called, taking a seat at the kitchen table. "Grab a plate and sit down. Bobby worked hard on this meal."

"So if you leave anything on your plate, I'll be offended," the old man told him, grabbing three beers from the fridge. "Here. How about a peace offering?"

Dean perked up at the smell and offer of food. He gratefully accepted the cold bottle of Jack Daniels and eyed the steak, green beans, mashed potatoes, and onion rings lustfully. "Thanks, old timer. You really know how to please a man."

"Shut up and eat, kid." Bobby rolled his eyes at the smartass and took a swig of his beer. "We've got some things to discuss about your brother."

"There's always something to discuss. Can I eat first?" Dean asked half-way through a mouthful of mashed potatoes and gravy. He really needed to work on his table manners, but then again, it wasn't one of his top priorities.

"Don't forget to swallow, Ace." John reminded him, smirking at his oldest. "It can wait until after you're done. Just don't choke."

Sam took that moment to stride into the room, fully dressed and looking much happier than his dour mood earlier. He climbed onto a chair next to his older brother, while Bobby settled a full plate of food in front of him. He returned the gesture with a sugary smile to his uncle, dimples and all, and thanked him for his efforts. The gruff salvage owner ruffled the shaggy mess of hair fondly before pouring his knephew a glass of apple juice to go along with his meal.

"Thanks Bobby! This looks great," he complimented, scooting his chair closer to the table and digging his fork into the green beans.

"Well ain't he just a bucket o' sunshine," Bobby teased, leaning against the counter to get a good look at all the Winchesters. This was as close to a family as he ever had since the death of his wife some years ago, before hunting was just a silly, unreal idea to him. Now, books on every mythical, magical and evil creature and spell possible littered his household along with an assortment of charms, knives, and weapons that he kept hidden away in case of emergencies. He hardly ever got the chance to cook for someone other than himself, unless one of his regular customers dropped in to visit, or Mrs. Gladys from across the street stopped by to deliver him a nice assortment of treats since she too had no one to care for.

"If you give a pig a pancake, well, you've read the book, right?" Dean added, working at his onion rings next. "Because I haven't. I don't trust those swine. You know some poor shmuck was attacked by a pig a few weeks ago? It bit off part of his leg and sent him to the hospital. People and their crazy ass pets. What's wrong with a nice labradoodle?" he ranted on, feeling a little bubbly from the alcohol.

"Have you been reading the tabloids again?" Sam asked, rolling his eyes. "Or are you just drunk?"

"Maybe a bit of both?"

John listened to his boys babble on about the dynamics and dangers of alcohol, what kind of animals were suitable as pets, and why it was outrageous that car companies didn't manufacture indestructable leather seats, whatever the hell that meant. He was just happy to see his kids again after the hell and loads of searching he did just to get a lead on the yellow-eyed demon. And finding out the latest news about his youngest son from Bobby only added to the growing paternal worry in his gut now that his baby was practically a baby again. He was vulnerable in his small body and would have a harder time protecting himself if something were to to come after him, and that was a big if, because he would be right there kicking it's evil ass into next week.

"Dad?" the youthful voice of said son broke him from his thoughts. He took one last pull of his beer before turning to face his kids. "Hmm?"

"Dean passed out...I think he was more tired than we thought..." he explained nervously, stealing one more glance at the light snores coming from his big brother's plate. He had managed to fall face first into his mashed potatoes, just narrowly avoiding a fork to his eye by mere centimeters. Bobby was currently trying to rouse him from sleep, muttering curses under his breath along the lines of 'idgits' and 'damn Winchesters that never sleep when they're supposed to.' John got up from his seat and helped Bobby pull his oldest off the food while Sam retrieved the soapy rag they had used to clean him.

"Poor Dean," Sam commiserated sadly, wiping the mashed potato from his forehead, "He drove almost the whole night trying to get here. He deserves some sleep."

"Both of you should get some rest," John agreed, wrapping one arm around the unconcious young man before hauling him up from his seat. "I'll take him up to the spare bedroom before he starts to drool. Sammy, help Bobby clean up the kitchen and then you can join your brother. You look like you could use a nap too."

Sam nodded wearily, stifling a yawn with the washcloth he still held in his hand. He gagged at the awful taste of soap on his tongue before discarding it into the sink. Once the dishes were all cleared and washed, the toddler hugged Bobby good night and sleepily made his way up to the spare bedroom he shared with Dean when they happened to stay the night. He watched his dad carefully work off the boots and jeans from his slumbering brother before he climbed in next to him. Now, John Winchester was far from an affectionate man, but he had his moments where his family was concerned. On the hunt, he was agile and alert, prepared to face any monster that came at him with a full armory of salt, fire and shotguns. As a father, he knew how to care for his children and tuck them into bed, which at his defense, he hadn't done in several years, but never forgot how to do nonetheless.

He pulled the blankets over both of his boys and smoothed the sheets down so that they weren't going to suffocate. Sam was already snuggled into Dean's side, fast asleep, and he couldn't help but linger a moment longer to watch the peaceful scene. He wasn't sure how he was going to deliver the news to his boys when they woke up in the morning, but right now he was just glad they were safe. Tossing those thoughts aside, John leaned down and kissed both of his kids lightly on the forehead before shutting out the lights and making his way over to the door.

"Goodnight, boys," he whispered quietly, leaving the door open a crack and heading down the long hallway to get some sleep himself.

Tomorrow was going to be a stressful day.

* * *

_TBC. Any thoughts? Good, bad, too much schmoop? What's John hiding up his sleeve? Hopefully ya'll enjoyed this! Took me a while to write, mind you. Thanks for reading! _


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